Rima Vesely-Flad [00:00:37] Welcome to the podcast series, Uplifting Black Nichiren Buddhist Voices. The distinctive teachings and practices of Nichiren Buddhism are deeply compelling for thousands of Black practitioners throughout the United States. One of the most compelling aspects of Nichiren Buddhism is the teaching that a person is responsible for their own life while they contribute to a more just world.
Nichiren Daishonin, the founder of Nichiren Buddhism, wrote extensively about self-transformation as a way to contribute to world peace and justice. He believed that the daily practice of chanting and committing to compassionate action would organically create enormous benefits for society.
In our fourth episode today, we are joined by Bishop Myokei Caine-Barrett Shonin, who is the first American woman and the first person of African-Japanese descent to attain full ordination as a Nichiren priest. She holds the esteemed position of bishop for the Nichiren-shu Buddhist Order of North America, the first woman and Westerner to do so. Her guidance emanates from Houston, Texas, where she leads as the principal teacher of Myoken-ji Temple and actively supports three prison sanghas within the Texas Department of Criminal Justice system.
Thank you so much for being part of this podcast series. I’m excited to include your voice.
Bishop Myokei Caine-Barrett Shonin [00:02:12] It’s been time to do this for a while.
Rima Vesely-Flad [00:02:14] That’s true. Well, I know there’s so much in your biography and your commitments, especially around prison ministry, that are worth delving into. I want to first start off, though, with this broader question about why Buddhism—for you, Bishop Myokei Caine-Barrett Shonin.
Bishop Myokei Caine-Barrett Shonin [00:02:41] Well, I started exploring religion when I was pretty young, around 11 years old. My dad used to make us go to church. In the military, when you go to a church, you go Protestant or Catholic or whatever, and you get the range of what Protestant churches would talk about.
So I had lots of questions, and I was always told, “You just have to have faith and you just have to believe it.” And it really upset me. So I started exploring other avenues. I was invited to a Buddhist meeting as part of the community we were part of, which was Japanese-American war brides and their children.
I didn’t know anything about Buddhism at the time, even though my mother was raised as a Buddhist. But she didn’t like going to temple or anything like that. When she was invited to go to the meeting with her friend, she said she didn’t want to go, but I could go and keep my girlfriend company while her mother was at the meeting.
I was also warned not to join anything. “Just go, but don’t join anything.” Which is like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
Rima Vesely-Flad [00:04:07] So close.
Bishop Myokei Caine-Barrett Shonin [00:04:09] I, of course, joined. But the thing was so appealing to me at the time—and I didn’t know this until years later—the sound of the chanting, the smell of the incense, was very familiar.
I didn’t recognize the familiarity at the time. I just thought how appealing it was, and it felt like home. It felt right. So I decided I was going to do this.
And I learned, when I was studying to become a priest, that my family practiced this kind of Buddhism. I really had come home full circle.
Rima Vesely-Flad [00:04:48] Yeah, you mean that your mother’s lineage claimed this lineage of Buddhism?
Bishop Myokei Caine-Barrett Shonin [00:04:58] Yes. My aunt still practices it today, and she was the one who—well, she was my milk mother. I learned a lot just by being in her presence and capturing the smell of incense and the sound of chanting. That was so critical for me at a very young age.
Rima Vesely-Flad [00:05:20] That’s so interesting. And does she practice Nichiren-shu Buddhism?
Bishop Myokei Caine-Barrett Shonin [00:05:25] Yes.
Rima Vesely-Flad [00:05:27] Okay, so that particular lineage within the Nichiren tradition more broadly. That is consistent with what brought you to Nichiren Buddhism. And I know that you had—I don’t know if “flirtation” is the right word, or maybe a deep investment—in SGI for some time.
Bishop Myokei Caine-Barrett Shonin [00:05:45] Oh, I was with them for 36 years.
Rima Vesely-Flad [00:05:48] Oh, for a very long time.
Bishop Myokei Caine-Barrett Shonin [00:05:51] Because that’s what was predominant in that small community we had. What I understand now is that was my first true experience of what sangha was all about.
These women really taught us how to practice as a community: to support each other, to nurture, to just do whatever we had to do to take care of each other. And it was a rough time.
These women—who were “the enemy,” living in Texas, suffering all forms of racism, domestic violence, alcoholism, and an inability to ever return home for many of them because they were not wealthy folks—formed a really tight community. They took care of the children as well as each other.
Rima Vesely-Flad [00:06:50] And it’s so important that we are talking about a community led by women who were not ordained, right? This is akin to a house church. These are lay practitioners.
It sounds like the fact that it was led by women who could empathize with the struggles of other members of the community was central to how the community was built.
Bishop Myokei Caine-Barrett Shonin [00:07:16] And what was so amazing long-term was that their husbands eventually became part of the community and became leaders of the community through the support of their wives.
Rima Vesely-Flad [00:07:28] I was wondering about that. Now, these are men who were in the military. Was this a community that was primarily Black and Asian?
Okay, so that’s also important. Maybe you can talk a bit about your own biography, which has always been very compelling. Because I too am biracial, although not of the same ancestry, but I know that’s been central to your own biography and your journey—to talk about or to embrace both your Asian heritage and your African-American heritage.
Bishop Myokei Caine-Barrett Shonin [00:08:03] I’ve always felt that people demand that you choose one. And it’s like, why?
Rima Vesely-Flad [00:08:10] Ha ha ha.
Bishop Myokei Caine-Barrett Shonin [00:08:11] I have to choose one because I live with both. I grew up in a community where we served chitlins on one hand and shrimp fried rice on the other, or sushi and watermelon and stuff like that. So it was a combination of both cultures all the time, and it was not unusual.
And our dads, all military men, we all knew the rules. We were all well indoctrinated as patriotic young Americans. And especially since we travelled a great deal, we were always told we were U.S. ambassadors. So when we went to another country, we had to represent.
We grew up in a culture where we saluted the flag and every day participated with Reveille, and had to do the Star-Spangled Banner to watch a movie at the theatre, that kind of stuff. We had all these rituals. And we also had the rituals of celebrating the different cultural holidays that came to us from Japan. So there was always this mix happening.
And to ask a kid to pick your dad’s culture or your mom’s culture, when both of them were so evident most of the time. And I think people forget that a lot of times, especially military families, fathers aren’t around that much because they’re deployed somewhere. And when they come back, it’s like building a new family all over again, in many ways.
So the communities that were formed were mainly women and children who supported each other and made sure the rules were followed, that we could introduce newer women to what needed to be done in order to take care of families. And it wasn’t unusual to have men act as brothers for real to each other. If somebody gambled the money away, the rest of the community of brothers would come and support that family.
Rima Vesely-Flad [00:10:20] That’s beautiful to hear. And also that you were mirrored in very important ways from a young age, sounds like into adulthood.
And I’m wondering about your broader experience outside of this tight-knit community and how Nichiren Buddhism and this particular lineage, Nichiren Shu, or even GI at the time, because that’s what you were involved in, how that spoke to this broader environment in which both Asian and people of African descent were routinely marginalized.
How did the tradition speak to that reality, those conditions? Or maybe the tradition bolstered you internally so that you had the muscles to respond to that broader context? I’m just curious about how this practice of Buddhism met this broader, more violent world.
Bishop Myokei Caine-Barrett Shonin [00:11:20] My father was a heavyweight boxer, so he taught us how to fight when we were young because he always suspected we would have to fight for each other and be able to protect ourselves. And that was indeed the case, that we had to really protect our siblings, each other, and our entire families.
Buddhism didn’t play that much of a role in the sense of teaching us about the practice. We chanted as youngsters, but it wasn’t until I was about 18 that I really got heavily into the practice of Buddhism.
So most of what I had to deal with was what my father taught us, and the fact that from both sides, it was so critical: you stood up for family, no matter what. And so I’ve had a few fights, even into high school. My last fight was in high school because somebody called my mother a whore for wanting to come to this country. And so, I beat her up and was subjected to possible suspension until my father came to school and backed me up 100 per cent.
But even going away to college for the first time was when I really met Buddhism on the ground as something that I personally had to rely on. And it was very difficult then because people would say to me, well, you can’t be Black because your mom’s not Black. And plus you’re from Texas, and we know you still tie your horses up to the post when you go shopping.
It was like, what? These people are nuts. But I was also very naive because of the life I was introduced to. I went to school in Cleveland because I had family there and I wanted to get connected to my family, which didn’t work out at all. And I ended up moving into a dorm on campus to get away from them because they were like, well, you can stay here one month and then you can move over here in one month. It was like, I’m not doing that.
And so fighting that was very difficult, just totally stupid about what real life was about. I didn’t know that people were actually pimps and prostitutes. I thought that was just from the movies because I never saw any of that as a younger person. And when I went to Cleveland, I met street life. And it was quite shocking.
And fortunately, I feel that Buddhism protected me so much, because there were people around me who were fully aware of how stupid I was. And so they introduced me to people to take care of me, to live under a different kind of code, even though one of my most prevalent protectors was a pimp. And he made sure I was safe, that nobody would harm me, while he showed me what the life was like, so I would always be aware of what I was running into.
And he would tell people, you mess with her, you mess with me. And I really didn’t understand that at the time. It wasn’t until later that I realized how much protection I had been afforded. And it helped me to understand, also at the beginning, that I had a purpose because I was so protected when all those other young women around me were not.
And so I saw many women get involved in street life. It seemed like all the pimps in town would come to campus freshman year to see the new crop, the shop women. And it was quite an extraordinary experience at the time.
Rima Vesely-Flad [00:15:31] That sounds like a brutal introduction to life outside of your tight-knit community, and that you took away a message of being protected, being safe — something we chant for or wish upon ourselves often within different Buddhist lineages.
And there are two responses that come to mind. One is your close encounter with the street life, as you call it, from this young age, probably around 18 or so years old, and how that may have supported your commitment to prison ministry and the people you are encountering and supporting within the Texas penal system.
That’s one thought, and I’m curious to explore that with you. And the other thought is that sense of protection. I’m wondering, this is a question, if that arises from chanting and from certain rituals within the Nichiren tradition. So I wonder if we can turn toward one of those questions and then turn toward the other in the remainder of our time.
Bishop Myokei Caine-Barrett Shonin [00:16:44] Well, one of the things we did as young people was chant a lot. And we would participate in round robin sessions of chanting where I would be at my house chanting and I’d call you, and you’d pick it up from me and then call the next person. So it would just keep going.
And it was like having a storehouse of the energy and the benefit of that chanting. I never really thought about it much at the time, but looking back now, I can see how I had this built-up reservoir of protection, of good energy or vibe, whatever you want to call it.
Things would happen and I would chant about it and all of a sudden things would change to my favour, like getting stuck on the side of the highway in a blizzard. And thinking, there’s nobody out here. How am I going to be saved? I’m stuck on the side of a road. And I’d start chanting and then within 10 or 15 minutes, somebody pulls up behind me with all the stuff I need to get out of the ditch.
And things like that would happen all the time. Meeting people who would be touched by the fact that I had trust for them, and they didn’t want to violate that trust. So that kind of protection.
And it always happened that there were circumstances I could have gotten into serious trouble, but I didn’t, somehow. And I learned through all of that that there were certain principles and traits that I needed to stand up for, and I learned how to have a voice to do that because of the chanting, because of that practice.
I couldn’t stand by and see suffering without trying to do something about it. And that also came down through my family, because my parents were always open to bringing people in, to feed people. Kids, if some of the young soldiers my father took care of didn’t have a place to go for the holiday, he would bring them home.
So we were always taught that the house was open. Even to this day, I could call my sister and say, you know, my friend is coming there, will you put her up? And there would be no hesitation. Even a total stranger would come to her house. And that has happened. But that’s the sense we have grown up with, that our house is open, our hearts are open, and this is how we take care of each other.
Rima Vesely-Flad [00:19:40] And maybe that leads then into this work with people who are not easy to access. You can’t just walk into a prison and decide you want to hang out. This involves great intention. This is a closed environment, highly regulated, a very violent environment, but you have for many years committed to going into prisons.
And it seems to me, listening to you today, that there is a kind of consistency of opening the home, but then also venturing out into places that are not so easy to venture into. But you’ve been able to do that both with intention, but also with a kind of authority. I wonder if you might speak to that and what you’re bringing into the prison environment.
Bishop Myokei Caine-Barrett Shonin [00:20:32] We were—well, I have to say that I’ve been involved since my early 20s in prison work, because I used to work for the Bureau of Prisons as an administrative assistant, barber, sister and mother and whatever, to guys coming out of prison.
But my initial introduction to the prison system was to come in with a group of young women to speak to men who were on their way out of prison, who had not been in contact with females for many years. And so the idea was that we would come in and talk to them so they would learn how to interact with women, which was horrible sometimes.
Because you’d walk into the prison and it was like being surrounded by all these horny guys whooping and hollering and whistling and everything. And I remember that feeling when we walked into prison. It was like, wow, this is really incredible. You don’t feel good about that. I didn’t feel good about that, and it was scary.
And then sitting—these were people who were involved with drugs and things like that, not violent offenders. So we engaged them in conversation. And the one thing I carried with me from that experience was you have to be honest with these folks, because they smell BS right away. And if you lie, they will just jump on you, just dig into it.
So I was fortunate that I was the last person they talked to, so I heard all and witnessed all the stuff. So after that experience, I was invited to work for the Bureau of Prisons. And that was quite an experience as well, because I dealt with all kinds of prisoners, especially on the federal level.
So I eventually left there because it was a misogynistic pit — not from the men coming out of prison, but from the administrators. And my father took over my job over there when he was in the military.
So when I came to Houston, I was invited to come. They were looking for practitioners, and a group of practitioners were looking for a Nichiren practitioner to come in. And so I decided to come in and brought two of my friends with me.
And we walked into a room full of folks, which we later found out were all white supremacists and neo-Nazis. Three Black women walking into that environment. And it was a power struggle initially. They were trying to take charge of the group. And we said, no, we’re the ones who know this, and you’re learning from us, so you follow what we have to say.
So there was a little bit of difficulty at first. And it wasn’t until really several years later that we found out about the white supremacy and the neo-Nazism and all that kind of stuff. But it was very much folks trying to claim power in the situation, and we managed that.
One person who was a sexual offender was outed because he was chosen as one of the leaders of the community, and they didn’t want him around, so they leaked the fact that he was a sex offender. But he was the one who continued to practice, even as people left the community because they didn’t want to be associated with him. He continued to practice so diligently that a new community formed up around him.
And that became the foundation, the strong foundation, which still exists today. That community is still going relatively strong in spite of COVID and everything else that has happened. They’ve been there all this time since then.
Rima Vesely-Flad [00:24:49] Are you still a leader of that particular community?
Bishop Myokei Caine-Barrett Shonin [00:24:55] One of the things they did to mess us all up — we are no longer a Buddhist community, but we are Eastern religion. So we have people who come in from different traditions: paganism, Native American, wherever. They can’t drop the three majors, they drop them with us.
So I now have two different prisons that I visit and several individuals in different prisons that I maintain connection with.
Rima Vesely-Flad [00:25:32] And do you also lead a community that is not an incarcerated community, but a temple or a sangha in the Texas area? Can you tell us a bit more about that and maybe about your position as a bishop?
Bishop Myokei Caine-Barrett Shonin [00:25:50] Well, our community here is not a super huge one. It’s been in my house the entire time. And I think it would be better if it were outside of my house, but we’re dealing with that.
And it’s a community of folks who are not only here in Houston. I have folks from Ohio, Missouri, and Kansas, and have had people from Canada and the Congo and Spain. So because of the internet, we’ve been able to take care of all these people.
And I have active right now the one locally here in Houston, as well as another that’s in South America, which also includes folks from Cuba and Central America as well. So, and my communities are fairly mixed. I have Chinese folks, Japanese folks, Black folks, and a few white folks. So it’s a good mixture.
It’s also a mixture of people who are formerly incarcerated who come and attend temple once they get out. Those who have maintained a strong connection have been most successful upon their re-entry into society, and are doing quite well. I think the acceptance they’ve received from the community locally has been very helpful.
Since we are in the Bible Belt though, it’s one of the things I think that makes it very difficult to spread the Dharma. Because I see an uptick, particularly in the Black church, that there are bigger, more mega churches happening. The Baptists are very strong, and people don’t want to give up their baptism or their Baptist teachings, even as they’re curious about Buddhism.
And we’re quite open in the sense of not requiring people to give up anything. You want to come and check us out and spend time with us, please do that.
Rima Vesely-Flad [00:28:06] They don’t have to convert or claim a particular theology or doctrine. I wonder, in our last few minutes, if you would be willing to chant for us a chant that is central to your communal experience with your sangha.
Bishop Myokei Caine-Barrett Shonin [00:28:27] Sure. This is the title of the Lotus Sutra in Japanese pronunciation of ancient Chinese. Namu is devotion or respect for. Myoho is wonderful Dharma. Renge, lotus flower. And Kyō is sutra.
So it’s the sutra of the lotus flower, the wonderful Dharma that we’re chanting, just repetitively. Namu myoho renge kyō.
[00:29:28] Chanting: Nam-myoho-renge-kyō …
Rima Vesely-Flad [00:30:04] Deep bows, Myokei. Thank you so much for joining us today, for your chanting, and for all of your work.
Bishop Myokei Caine-Barrett Shonin [00:30:10] Well, thank you for having me.